Malum Prohibitum
by wildfire-sky05
Summary: I can see no greater reason for revenge than avenging your family. Vulcan or not, watching your own blood die in such a way will certainly evoke an emotional response from even the most emotionless people." Post-movie. Spock/Uhura
1. The Ambassador

**Malum Prohibitum**

**By: Wildfire Sky**

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my mind and my soul...both of which are up for grabs to the highest bidder._

_A/N: My first Star Trek fic, but certainly not my first fanfic overall. I have a habit of being vague as far as the situation in the first chapter of my stories…and I usually focus on the supporting characters as much as I do the main characters. It's a habit of mine. But don't worry, you will get plenty of Spock x Uhura. I didn't put my story in this category for shits and giggles. :)_

_Update: I corrected a few chronological errors that were confusing some of the readers._

**Malum Prohibitum**

**Chapter One: The Ambassador**

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Admiral Gregory Lord glared down the length of the meeting table with barely concealed disdain, his fifty-four year old body tense as he leaned forward, folding his hands on top of the table. The other admirals and vice admirals around him remained still, the expressions on their faces a mixture of disbelief, confusion, and outrage, looking back and forth between Admiral Lord and their "guests" seated at the far end on the conference room.

It was on very few occasions that someone had the audacity to come before his council and demand what these so-called ambassadors were demanding, especially in the wake of one of the most tragic military engagements in Starfleet history.

It's been just over a month since Nero's insane attack on the Federation. The recovered bodies of Starfleet cadets and officers had only arrived from the Vulcan area two days ago. Funeral preparations and the scheduling of memorial ceremonies were still underway, and these _diplomats_ – Lord had a more colorful name for them – arrived on the front door step of the Academy, demanding an audience with men and women who clearly could not afford to waste time with such distasteful interruptions.

His fingers flexed against each other in a tight fist as his hard gaze shifted to a rather nervous looking Romulan: Ambassador Avell R'Mor.

It had been Avell who had contacted Lord personally, requesting, on behalf of the Romulan Empire, a meeting with the heads of Starfleet in an effort to eradicate any misgivings between the Federation and the Romulans over the events that had recently transpired.

Admiral Lord had at first graciously welcomed the offer, being that he and Avell were, in fact, close friends. So close, that the Romulan had come to Earth many a time not only to visit the Admiral, but also in the hopes of establishing an embassy on Earth and solidifying an alliance between Romulus and the Federation at long last.

That was how Admiral Lord had foreseen this meeting. A final agreement between Federation and Romulus to bring their worlds closer, that is how it _should_ have gone. But almost from the moment the Romulan starship transferred her living cargo to San Francisco, Lord had sensed something was wrong.

Dealing with the stand-offish Romulans was nothing new. His first encounter with Avell had ended in a heated, nearly physical, argument that left both men furious and declared mortal enemies.

He'd been a hard-nosed lieutenant commander at the time; a thirty-four year old fresh out of the Academy, with a fast temper and a wide, stubborn streak. They'd met when the ship he'd been assigned to made contact with a Romulan science shuttle. Almost instantly, the two had clashed. Since both were of the same frame of mind, one backing down to the other hadn't been an option…even though the argument was over something as pointless as the proper pronunciation of Avell's full name. It was only through years of brief exchanges that the two finally warmed to each other.

Lord had been expecting to use this same, stubborn approach with the other ambassadors. It seemed Romulans responded best to those who didn't back down and seemed capable of handling themselves in a scuff.

Despite his age, Lord kept his body in supreme shape. Exercise was a daily regimen, often encompassing taking recruits through their morning and evening physical training sessions, turning what was an already unpleasant and difficult task into a literal hell.

Because of this, his shoulders were broad and developed, along with the rest of his body, and he carried himself with all the confident of a professional fighter. Lord took it all in stride, using his strength to get what he needed, quickly, from whomever he asked. And with Romulans - a race proud of their own personal strength - he had to act with the utmost confidence in himself. It was the only way to get them to listen to reason…unlike their Vulcan cousins who swam in reason and logic and were much more responsive.

But it seemed that for all his efforts, no amount of intimidation was enough. Right now, they were careening down a path of terrible consequences and Lord was almost certain that they didn't care, so long as they got their way.

Leaning forward, Lord opened his hands, placing his palms down on the polished, black marble table. Staring each ambassador directly in the eyes, Lord spoke slowly and carefully so there would be no mistake in what he was about to say.

"Have you lost your goddamn _minds_?" His gruff, deep voice boomed through the room.

Avell stiffened, his eyes flashing to his fellow Romulans briefly before settling back on Lord's terse expression. With a barely perceived shake of his head in warning, the Romulan spoke, his voice very gentle and soft spoken; a rarity for the normally brazen species.

"I understand your misgivings about this situation, Admiral Lord, but this is a course that the Romulan Empire cannot stray from. The demand for justice by our people is absolute and unquestionable. Your assistance in the matter would be greatly appreciated."

Lord was shaking his head before Avell had even finished, his heavy blue eyes flashing angrily. "Your people have no cause, no basis, for what they are asking that we do. There is no reasoning that you've given justifying your request, and as such, I must refuse it."

Another ambassador – his name escaped Lord at the moment – leaned forward, dark eyes challenging. "There is plenty of reasoning, Admiral Lord. You simply fail to see it. Unsurprising for a human."

"Then please, do tell. Dumb it down for my slow, _human_ brain." The words came out in a bite, daring the Romulan to even attempt such a foolish thing.

Sneering across the table, the Romulan moved to oblige the furious Admiral when Avell cut him off.

"Admiral, please. We do not wish for this to become any more volatile than it has to be." He sent a sharp look in the direction of his comrade, "We don't mean to insult your intelligence, but as I'm sure you are aware, this is a tense time for everyone."

"And this ridiculous request is not helping."

"I'm sure it isn't," Avell offered a thin smile, "But it comes at the behest of one higher than any of us. Our great Praetor."

"Than any _Romulan_." Lord snapped his expression fierce, "As far as I'm concerned, your hierarchy does not carry outside of your system, so don't try and use it to humble me into submission."

"Of course." Avell frowned, staring at Lord insistently, "My apologies…Admiral Lord."

The apology was meant for him, specifically. Not in regard to the behavior of his fellow Romulans, but because Avell was being forced to do this. Although Lord regretted that his dear friend had been put in this situation, he could not budge. They were simply asking for too much at the wrong time and friendship or not, he could not overlook it.

A Vice Admiral to Lord's right leaned forward, her sharp green orbs eyeing the Romulan ambassador like a wolf ready to pounce. "Personally, I would like to know why the Romulan Empire feels they have the right to demand _anything_ of us right now. After all, this tragedy was made in your name."

"Nero did not speak on behalf of the Romulan Empire!" snarled the same nameless Romulan ambassador. "His actions were not endorsed by our council."

"And yet you come here demanding revenge for his demise." The Vice Admiral countered, "Your reasoning is incredibly flawed."

Avell took a deep breath. This would never end. "Allow me to clarify. We do not demand this because of the death of Nero. He was an embarrassment to the Romulan Empire and if you had contacted us sooner, we would have assisted in his capture. However, our Empire wishes to address the events leading up to Nero's attack. And for that reason we have made this demand. It is because of Spock that Romulus is destroyed. He must stand trial to answer for this blow to our people…and to prevent the any retaliation from occurring against our people by the Vulcans." His eyes turned cold, his voice filled with dark determination.

Lord shook his head vehemently. "I cannot condone the surrender of one of our best commanders to a foreign species just because they don't like someone."

"He is not a Terran. Why should you care about his fate?"

"He lives, works and associates with humans effectively and has allied himself with the Federation providing an unmatched service to all of us. Therefore, he is under our protection and our laws. Should he retaliate - and I'm more than certain he _would not _- he would face our trials and our justice. Not yours."

Avell stared at Admiral Lord, his eyes seeming even darker as he spoke in a low voice seeping with warning. "Admiral Lord I urge you to reconsider. Any refusal will not be met with kindness and it would be wise for the Federation to avoid any confrontational situations. Especially with your fleet handicapped and so few recruits available. The engagement could have disastrous consequences."

The room was dead silent as both officers and ambassadors stared across the table at the Avell, shock clearly evident. Avell kept his gaze firmly on the Admiral, trying to judge how his old friend would react. The words that had just come from his mouth came from the Praetor himself and were to be used only in the most urgent of negotiations. His fellow ambassadors were unaware that much more than justice hinged on the demands of their empire being met. Hopefully, they would have the effect the Romulans were hoping for.

Slowly all eyes turned to Admiral Lord. The Admiral's back was snapped upright, fists clenched tightly as he literally bristled. His voice dropped to a dangerous level as he growled: "Did you just threaten me, Avell?"

The lack of his proper title immediately put the ambassador on edge, "Admiral…"

The old war dog shot to his feet with an agility that was surprising for his age. Slamming his fist down on the table, his voice roared out, cutting off whatever feeble words Avell might have spoken.

"I have made my decision! Commander Spock will not be handed over to the Romulan Empire. Not now, not ever. Furthermore, any attempt by the Romulan Empire to take him by force will be met with the full and swift intervention of the Federation. This is final and these negotiations are over." Avell opened his mouth to rebuke the Admiral's decision, but Lord silenced him once again with a glare and a finger jabbed in his direction, "As for _you_, Ambassador Avell, I would like a word with you in my office. _Now_."

Avell blinked, casting his ambassadors a cautious look. "Admiral Lord, I don't think that…"

"That wasn't a request!" Lord barked, motioning to the two guards by the meeting hall doors, "Escort Ambassador Avell to my quarters immediately."

A clipped 'yes, sir' was the only response offered to the fuming Admiral as the guards stepped around the conference table, standing silently on either side of Avell. The other Romulan ambassadors surged to their feet, their angry outbursts filling the room with Romulan tongue. It was incomprehensible, at least, to the majority of the Admirals and Vice-Admirals gathered that depended on the highly specialized xenolinguists to translate.

However, having a close relationship to Avell for years, Gregory Lord was intimately engrossed in the language and could speak and understand it almost as fluently has English. So he had the privilege of catching every word the Ambassadors said…every threat, every insult, every hate-filled promise of demise and the end of all time. It was a load of hot air, as far as he and the Federation was concerned.

Romulan ambassadors were the same as human ambassadors. They were full of it.

Instead of silencing his fellow Romulans, Avell simply watched Lord carefully, putting up no resistance as the cadets requested that he follow them to Lord's officer. Avell knew where it was. Often, when he came to the Academy to visit, he would go the Gregory's office to catch up on the news and to remember old times. Unfortunately, he knew this visit would have no such pleasure associated with it.

With a quick snap in Romulan to his ambassadors to silence themselves, Avell turned with as much dignity and confidence as he could muster and followed the guards from the meeting room and up two flights by elevator to the fifth floor where the private quarters of Admiral Lord were built.

It was an impressive area - half of an entire floor dedicated solely to the use and purpose of one man. A symbol of Lord's massive base of power. It wasn't just that the Admiral was one of Starfleet's top; he also came from an extremely wealthy and powerful political family. His history and personality made Admiral Lord one of the most imposing men in Starfleet. And such power came with broad and obvious benefits.

The Admiral's personal secretary of twenty years sat at a single desk next to a pair of large doors, her eyes focused on the flat computer screen in front of her. Not once did she look up as the lift signaled the group's arrival. She was used to receiving 'guests' that weren't guests. She didn't ask questions but simply admitted those who should be admitted.

The guards crossed the large entry way, pausing in front of the double doors leading into the Admiral's private quarters and swinging them open to allow access. Avell barely crossed the thresh hold when the lift let out a second pleasant chime and Admiral Lord came thundering out like a mad-man with a purpose.

His secretary continued to stare at her screen as the Admiral approached.

"No interruptions, Abigail!!"

"Good morning to you too, Greg."

He rolled past like a tornado, tossing his PADD in her direction. Abigail nimbly caught it with one hand and placed it on her desk without missing a beat, eyes still locked on her screen. The attitude was nothing new.

Barely acknowledging the two cadets who jumped back and to attention, Lord came forward like an imposing force into his office.

"Sit." He commanded in a voice that demanded immediate obedience. Looking over his shoulder at the two cadets, Lord jerked his head towards the lift. "Dismissed."

Snapping off a quick salute, the cadets pulled the office doors closed before taking off towards the turbo lift as quickly, and quietly, as they could.

Avell stood rooted in place in the middle of the room, watching the Admiral with a calculating eye. Ignoring the hard stare, Lord moved towards his desk, brushing past the Romulan without as much as a glance.

"You're upset."

Admiral Lord snorted, his lack of reply practically shouting 'no, duh'.

Avell let out a long needed sigh as he walked to the massive work desk, planting his hands firmly on the wood and leaning towards the now seated human. "Listen to me, Gregory…I don't have a choice. When our Praetor wants something done, and I am ordered to do it, I will. Just like you would, should our positions be switched."

"And you would do the same thing I am and refuse." Lord looked up at his old friend, his normally cold eyes betraying his confusion. "Why didn't you come to me first? Before all this? We could have talked about this in a much more private situation." Lord's eyes flicked towards the chair in front of his desk and he scowled. "I believe I said for you to _sit_."

Avell looked around the empty room as he sat in one of the chairs before the desk. "This is private enough."

"All hope of privacy ended the moment you brought your Romulan friends into _my_ building." He shook his head in disbelief, "Avell…we've been friends for how long?"

"Almost twenty years."

"Twenty years…" the Admiral repeated slowly, "Twenty years of friendship and this is the first time that I've truly wondered just what the _hell_ is wrong with you. And there have more than enough situations that should have brought that thought to the front of my mind."

Avell offered a small smile, "Same here."

Lord's face broke into a smile, "True. We've have some rather…_interesting_ encounters over the years. Remember when we ran into that Klingon armada just outside of the A-25 star cluster? Five war birds against our one ship…"

"Yes, I recall that particular incident. I was an unlucky visitor on board. Completely unaware I was in the hands of a mad man. I distinctly recall what you said when the Klingon captain demanded the surrender of your vessel." Avell tilted his head to one side, his eyes filled with mirth, "I'm almost certain you weren't aware of what you were saying."

"I wasn't." Lord admitted with a shrug, "I was thirty-two years old and just got my bars and my first command. I wasn't about to let some ridge-faced freak of nature take my new baby for a joy ride around the galaxy. Admiral Tecora would have killed me. Anyways, as I recall, you were the one who taught it to me."

"To use in your _bars_ as an insult to other human men, not on the battlefield against a Klingon! They are very proud of their mothers."

Admiral Lord let out a roar of a laugh, leaning back in his seat. "Well it worked, didn't it?"

"For better or worse, I suppose so. I still have the scars from that little engagement." Avell smirked as he rubbed his stomach over one such scar, remembering days long past when it seemed the two often enjoyed each other's company. But now things were falling apart. All because of a single order he had to obey. Best friends or not, to Avell the orders of the Romulan Praetor and the Empire were above all else.

As Lord's laughter died, the large man released a puff of air and gave a small shake of his head. "Avell…I want to apologize. I truly am sorry for this…for what you're going to have to tell your Praetor."

"…You still refuse?"

"I have no choice!" Lord exclaimed waving a hand around the room, "Look around you! You're on _Earth_, at the Federation's Headquarters and Academy, demanding that not only do I hand over one of my best officers to _Romulans_, but that I hand him over not two weeks after half of the cadets stationed here were obliterated by Nero. A Romulan. And why? Because your Praetor is paranoid that Commander Spock will come back for some half-assed attempt at revenge."

"Our governance has determined that Commander Spock must face justice for allowing our home to be destroyed, even if it happened in the past-future. It happened without consequences towards him, but then, we Romulans are being held responsible for the destruction of Vulcan. As for the Vulcan's revenge…that is the Praetor's personal belief. It seems reasonable for our Praetor to fear vengeance. The Commander's planet was just destroyed and the Vulcans are now a nearly extinct species." Avell frowned slightly, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't his mother die as well?"

Lord's eyes narrowed. "I will not answer that and I suggest you put it out of your mind."

Avell ignored the veiled threat, "I can see no greater reason for revenge than avenging your family. Vulcan or not, watching your own blood die in such a way will certainly evoke an emotional response from even the most emotionless people."

"Avell, I'm not kidding. Drop it."

"Why do you defend them?" Avell hissed, his frustration growing, "Vulcans _despise_ humans. They think of you as nothing more than hyper-active animals with too many dreams and not enough self-control! And yet, at every turn you look to them as friends and allies. Don't you ever wonder why, in all the hundreds of years the Federation has existed, only _one_ Vulcan has ever joined your ranks?"

"Vulcan is a _founding_ member of the Federation and…"

"It's because they look at Star Fleet as a joke. They let you humans carry on with it because they helped start it first place, and that's the only reason why they haven't left. Because they are too proud to admit that maybe they initiated something _illogical_."

"Avell…" The Admiral's voice was tense, "You're treading on thin ice…"

"Personally, I still wonder what the point of the Federation is. It seems to me like an attempt by Vulcan to gain control of planetary systems under the guise of protection and peace. And you humans played right into it. Vulcan's aren't _stupid_. They don't do things without a purpose. _No_ species is so noble as to want universal peace and not take a little bit for themselves."

"That's enough!" Lord sat stiff, his fists clenching on the desk top. "Are you quite finished?"

The Romulan huffed, sitting back and leveling his own glare at the stubborn human. "If you're not going to listen, then yes, I suppose I am now."

"Good. Because to be perfectly honest, you haven't said not one word that will make me change my mind. I'm fully aware of the Vulcan's outlook on humans, but that doesn't matter right now. What matters is that you want me to condemn Commander Spock to death on a non-Federation planet that has absolutely no justification for revenge. I will not be a part of a Romulan witch-hunt against an already endangered species because you're pissed." Lord's eyes softened, "Look, nothing will prevent a star from blowing up. But Avell I _promise_ you…I will do everything in my power to keep Commander Spock from enacting any sort of revenge against Romulus or her people."

Avell released a barely concealed snort of disbelief, "An impossible promise. You can't monitor him at all times."

Lord smirked, "That's the difference with Vulcans…_they_ obey commands and are _loyal_. That's what makes them so…useful."

_They? Loyal?_ For a micro-second, a confused look flashed across Avell's face before he reeled back like he'd been hit. Anger returned to his eyes in a furious blaze.

"You…you think that I'm disloyal? That I'm _betraying_ you?"

"Well, I think you're not thinking. But that's not what I mea--"

Avell bristled as he shot to his feet, his teeth and fists clenched in fury as he struggled to force out his words. "I am your friend, Gregory. I am your closest ally and I am your brother. That will never change. But you must understand that above all else, I am _Romulan_. And Romulans have a loyalty that neither you nor your _Vulcan_ friends could possibly understand." He spat out the word 'Vulcan' like it was a curse. "For you to sit there and call me a traitor because I am _loyal_ to my own blood and people…it's…it's _disgusting_!"

Lord raised a hand in an attempt to calm, already regretting his poorly chosen words, "Avell, please sit down. I didn't mean to insult you."

"_Areinnye'n-hnah!!_"

The Admiral's eyes narrowed dangerously as the curse and flecks of spittle flew from Avell's mouth.

"Avell! Damn it, would you just _listen_ to me!"

Lord's hard voice broke through the angry fog that had clouded Avell's mind. Slowly, the Romulan's tense body began to relax although his eyes remained hard. Lord waited for a brief moment before continuing.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't calling you, or your people, traitors or disloyal. As you said, we are like brothers…_v'Dianvm_. You're closer to me than my own family. I am merely stating that Vulcans have a rather uncanny need to obey orders from their superiors to the mark. Something that even we humans severely lack." He smirked, "I'm sure it must be a 'logic' thing."

Avell slowly sank into his chair, taking deep, calming breaths and nodding at Lord to continue.

"With that being said, I made the remark simply to say that if I order Commander Spock to stay away from Romulus…"

"And Remus." Avell amended.

"Uh, yes…and Remus…" Lord blinked, but consented, "…then he will do so with little, if any objection."

Avell sat silently, his cold eyes scanning Lord's face for any deception or trickery. Lord stared back with a solid, confident gaze, leaving no room for question. Slowly, Avell released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and adjusted the crimson robes signifying him as a Romulan ambassador. He was here to represent the Empire and would act accordingly. The words came out carefully and unhurriedly.

"I have your word you will order Commander Spock to remain away from Romulan space?"

Lord offered Avell a sharp nod. "Yes, so long as it doesn't interfere with official duty. You have my word as both a Star Fleet Admiral…and your closest friend."

"And," Avell locked eyes with Lord, unmoved by the sentiment, "if Commander Spock does enter Romulan space without undue need, or intends to do harm against any Romulan for vengeful purposes…do I have your word that you will either allow us to apprehend him or he will be surrendered by Star Fleet Command to Romulus?"

A sigh. "You sure are pushing your luck with me, Avell. He's part of the Federation and he has a job to do. Sometimes our missions…"

"This is the only way I can convince the Praetor to agree to this. You can't simply leave Romulus defenseless should he _conveniently_ wander into our system. We will not consent to that."

Lord took a long, deep, calming breath, releasing it in a frustrated sigh. "…Fine. I will agree. _But_, Romulus must alert Star Fleet command of any such violation _prior to_ his arrest. If he's there for aid or on the basis of a mission, and is arrested before our immediate notification, his capture will be seen as a kidnapping – not law enforcement – and Star Fleet will react accordingly."

"Reasonable enough for me." The ambassador nodded his agreement, climbing to his feet and straightening the front of his robe, "And we agree to have these terms implemented immediately."

Lord grunted in affirmation. "Within the hour."

He would have to send notice to the Fleet Admiral immediately. It was only through luck and careful maneuvering that Lord found himself the Chief of Starfleet Intelligence. It made dealings such as these much easier when he didn't have to deal with the red tape.

Sighing with relief, Avell offered his long friend a smile, "Thank you, Gregory. I will depart to Romulus and present our Praetor with this agreement at once. I'm sure he'll find it adequate, but if there are any issues that might cause a dilemma, you'll be the first to know."

Not expecting an answer, Avell stood, gave Admiral Lord a short nod of respect, and turned on his heel to leave. But just as he reached out to open the office door, Lord's gruff voice reached his sensitive ears.

"Ambassador Avell."

The Romulan paused, turning towards the piercing stare of his friend. "Yes, Admiral?"

"Don't do this again."

Another nod as he opened the door. "Understood, Admiral. _Jolan'Tru_."

MP**MP**MP**MP**MP

Abigail finally looked up from her station as the Romulan Ambassador strode from the room. "Good morning, Ambassador Avell. I haven't seen you in a while."

Avell approached the desk with a wide grin. "Indeed, Missus Stone. You look as young as the first day I met you."

"I've told you before, called me Abigail. Missus makes me feel older than the sixty-three I really am."

"Only if you call me Avell, as I've requested." A smooth smirk slid across his face, "And as you humans might say: you age like the finest wine, dear Abigail."

Abigail waved a dismissive hand, standing up with a stack of PADDs stuck under one arm. "Oh, get away, you. You need to rub a little of that charm of Gregory. Maybe he'll stop going through so many wives."

"There is no amount of _anything _that I could give him to make his personal life cease being the ever impressive disaster it is. Besides, if I did that, he would no longer be the Gregory we both know so well. Can you imagine what he would be like? Charming? Polite? _Please_."

For a moment, Abigail considered this, and then shook her head with a mock shudder. "You're right. The thought of him smiling and being civil and acting like a proper gentleman is enough to make me feel ill." Shifting the PADDs, she gave Avell a warm smile. "Alright, young man, time for you to leave. _He_…" she nodded towards the slightly ajar door, "has about three days worth of work to catch up on. And thanks to you, it will be a miracle if I can get him settled enough to start."

Avell inclined his head in respect and farewell. "Then I'll leave you to it. _Jolan'Tru_, Abigail."

"_Jolan'Tru_, Avell."

Abigail made her way through the office doors, securing them behind her before moving towards Admiral Lord. Even from across the room, she could tell he was seething.

"It takes more muscles to frown then smile." She chided gently, setting the stack of PADDs down next to his clenched left fist.

A small snort escaped Lord's nostrils.

"Thanks, _mother_." He grunted sarcastically, "The next time I need an anatomy lesson, I'll come straight to you."

"Don't speak that way to me, young man!" Abigail mockingly warned, her voice light, "I haven't done anything. You brought this all on yourself."

Gregory's eyes slid up to her face as he snatched the first tablet from the top of the pile. "You were eaves-dropping?"

"I didn't have to, Gregory. The two of you were shouting so loud, there was hardly an effort on my part. You should be thankful the other offices on this floor are empty."

"They're empty for a reason, Abigail. In my profession, neighbors are a bad mix." Lord's eyes dropped to the new data screen. "What's this?"

"Sign it."

"What the hell _is_ it?"

"Will you please just sign it, Gregory? It's nothing worth arguing about."

With an irritated grunt, Lord picked up a stylus from his desk top and signed his name across the bottom of the last data sheet with a flourish. "I didn't just sell my soul, did I?"

"I didn't know you had one to sell." A sly smile ghosted across the old woman's lips at Lord's scowl and she handed him the next PADD. "Now, this one you might want to look over. It's from Admiral Pike requesting a change in mission parameters for one of the starships. A Code 47, Classified: Alpha."

A bushy eyebrow quirked up as he accepted the PADD, his grey eyes scanning the digital document carefully. With each sentence, each word, Lord felt the anxiety grow within him. His nightmare of a day was quickly spiraling into a hell hole of bad luck and terrible timing.

"Has he already sent this to the office of Admiral Maxwell?"

"Yes. Both Fleet Admiral Maxwell and Admiral Barnett have approved," Abigail's face was curious. "You're only obligated to acknowledge the request that we are sending a starship into the Romulan Neutral Zone as the Chief of Starfleet Intelligence. Then it will be official."

Lord's face darkened. Since when did Pike have the authority – or the influence - to change and assign missions to Starfleet vessels? It would require further investigation at a much later time. Right now, Gregory's mind was occupied with the fact that an impending conflict was about to erupt before his very eyes. Avell had left his office not twenty minutes ago and was undoubtedly contacting his Praetor at this very moment. To say they would be mad when they found out was a gross understatement.

He wouldn't sign it. He would speak with Fleet Admiral Maxwell and convince him to send another ship – _any_ other ship – to the Neutral Zone. Any ship but the _Enterprise_…

"Greg?" Abigail was staring at him, "This needs to be signed right away. Admiral Maxwell wants transmission to the _Enterprise_ within the hour."

Lord's throat suddenly felt dry.

He had to do something. Refusal was impossible as long as it had the Fleet Admiral's approval. But…there may still be a way to salvage this disaster.

Clearing his throat, Lord looked up at Abigail, his ever familiar scowl back in place.

"Connect me to Admiral Barnett."

MP**MP**MP**MP**MP

Christopher Pike sat across from Richard Barnett, enjoying a welcome break from the rigors of command. He carefully observed the near empty chess board in front of him, a single finger toying with the obsidian knight piece beneath it before he finally picked it up and began to place it.

"You don't want to do that."

Pike's eyes flicked up to Admiral Barnett's, hand frozen over the board. "Why not?"

Barnett shrugged one shoulder. "You just don't."

"You're trying to bullshit me." Pike smirked, continuing to place his piece.

"Alright. It's your funeral."

With a loud sigh, Pike moved his piece back to its original spot and picked up his bishop.

"You don't want to do that, either."

"Oh, for the love of—I know what I'm doing!" Pike glared across the board at his grinning friend.

"I'm only trying to help. You don't seem like the 'chess' type." Barnett leaned back into his office sofa.

Ignoring Barnett's underhanded warnings, Pike placed his bishop and leaned into his own couch, crossing his arms across his chest and flashing a victorious grin. "There! How about _that_?"

Barnett inclined his head and moved with an almost bored expression. "Check."

"Wha—_How_?" Sputtering, Pike blinked at the chess board, his face turning a light shade of red in frustration. Barnett simply settled into his chair, brought a glass of cool water to his lips as he watched his subordinate flounder.

It was an almost daily occurrence for one of them to grace the other's office for lunch, usually engaging in a game of poker or chess, if time permitted, to allow their busied minds a break from the every day.

There was a silent agreement between the two of them: absolutely no business during lunch. No talk of missions, or politics, or duty, or anything that had to do with Starfleet.

It was the only way to stay sane in this backwards world.

Christopher was still studying the chess board when Barnett's secretary knocked on the door.

"Enter!" Barnett's voice called as he continued to watch the flustered Pike with growing amusement. A young male cadet strode into the room, snapping off a smart salute in the Admirals direction. Barnett gave the creature a dismissive wave, "At ease, cadet. What is it?"

"Admiral Lord is standing by on call, sir." The cadet glanced in Pike's direction, "Would you…like me to tell him you're in a meeting?"

Pike huffed to himself, "I can only imagine what this must be about…"

"Can you?" Barnett asked, an eyebrow shooting up, "Because I haven't the first idea. Although, I'm more than certain Admiral Lord will make his reasoning abundantly clear."

Shrugging, Pike stood up and gave Admiral Barnett a departing nod. "I'll excuse myself, Admiral. It's quite possible he would like to speak with you about the _USS Enterprise_ and it would be inappropriate for me to be here."

"Absolutely not." Barnett steeled Pike with a glare, though there was little heat behind it. "If this has anything to do with the orders you're sending to the _Enterprise_, then I believe that you very much need to be a part of this conversation. Cadet, put Admiral Lord on the main screen."

The cadet nodded sharply. "Right away, sir."

Standing, Pike and Barnett left their sofas and moved to Barnett's desk on the far end of the room, taking their respective seats on either side of it. The cadet moved to the blank wood-paneled wall on the desk's right, flipping open a concealed panel and pressing one of the several buttons on the metal faceplate. Two large sections of the wall instantly slid open, revealing the large television screen behind them.

"Connecting to Admiral Lord, sir."

The cadet entered several numbers into the keypad on the panel and then turned to leave the room. There was a short pause before the black screen blinked to life, revealing the gruff face of Admiral Gregory Lord.

"Gregory!" Barnett greeted with a half-smile, "To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?"

"Admiral Barnett," Lord returned, his eyes slipping to where Pike sat, "and Admiral Pike. I didn't expect you to be with Richard. I apologize if I was interrupting anything."

"You were, actually," Barnett stated, his words, but not his voice, betraying his irritation in having his afternoon lunch interrupted, "Christopher and I were engaged in a rather ferocious game of chess."

Pike barely kept his snort of indignation in check. 'Ferocious game', yeah right. Barnett was mopping the floor with him. The man had played chess with Spock. It was hard to beat a person who could do toe-to-toe with the Vulcan and make even him struggle.

Lord's eyes narrowed at the jab. "Well, then I will state my purpose for calling so this can be as brief as possible."

"That would be very nice, thank you."

Pike's flicked a look in Barnett's direction. It was no secret how the Dean of the Academy felt about the Commander of Starfleet Intelligence. Coming from a lower-middle class family out of Chicago, Barnett had earned and fought his way to the top. So when he found out Admiral Lord had literally been handed his commission on a gold platter, the two were immediately placed at odds. Unfortunately, because Intelligence recruited directly out of the Academy's junior and senior classes, Barnett and Lord clashed on a frequent basis. Usually these clashes turn volatile very quickly.

Pike sighed inwardly. _Like today…_

"Very well," Lord snarled, clearly insulted, "And I will try to speak as slowly as possible so you understand."

"You may speak as quickly as that silver spoon fed brain of yours allows. Even if it is at a snail's pace."

"Why you rude, disrespectful, son of a…"

"Gentlemen!" Pike interrupted in exasperation, "Is this really necessary?"

Barnett grinned with a wink in Pike's direction, "Don't worry, Christopher. It's just a little game Admiral Lord and I have been playing for the past fifteen years. To lighten things up, right, Gregory?"

The dark look on Lord's face clearly showed he disagreed, "Yes…something like that."

"So, Gregory, what is it you want?"

Lord looked in Pike's direction. "I had hoped to speak with you in private, but considering Admiral Pike is also a part of this, it could make things easier." Lord sat ramrod straight, "I regret to inform you that as Chief of Starfleet Intelligence, I am requesting that another starship, other than the _USS Enterprise_, be assigned to patrol the Romulan Neutral Zone."

There was a pregnant silence. Barnett and Pike exchanged a confused look before the newly promoted Admiral spoke.

"Are you serious?"

"I'm certainly not joking, Admiral Pike."

"On what grounds?"

"Ensuring the safety and security of the Federation."

"Sending the _Enterprise_ to the Neutral Zone would be accomplishing exactly that, Admiral Lord," Pike argued, looking at Barnett for support.

However, instead of supporting Pike's claims and taking Lord to town, Barnett looked quite serious, his stern eyes locked on the screen. "You are aware of something we are not, Admiral Lord?"

Lord gave a short nod. "I am. As you well know, several Ambassadors from the Romulan Empire arrived here to speak with myself and my staff today. The purpose of this meeting was to have one, Commander Spock of the _USS Enterprise_, arrested and surrendered for trial in Romulan court. And if we did not agree to his surrender, we were promised dire consequences that we would be unable to fend off in the face of our most recent tragedy."

Barnett blinked, his shock and confusion clear. "And exactly what crime was Commander Spock supposed to have committed?"

"I cannot specify, but I assure you, they have ample evidence that would guarantee a swift conviction in their courts."

"Oh Jesus…" Pike's voice came out in a strained whisper, "Please tell me you didn't…"

"Of course not," Lord admonished, "I successfully evaded the surrender and – highly probable – execution of Commander Spock. However, this came at a small price I was willing to bend to. The details are not necessary, but in short, Commander Spock _cannot_ go anywhere _near_ Romulan space. To do so may put those on board the _Enterprise_ in a very compromising and uncomfortable position. One that could prove dangerous for such a novice crew."

Pike shifted in his seat, sitting a little straighter. "I believe that their actions during the incident with Nero prove beyond a doubt they have far surpassed a 'novice' crew."

"Agreed." Barnett growled, "But the Admiral Lord is, unfortunately, correct. Sending the _Enterprise _to the Neutral Zone could prove disastrous."

Lord could barely contain his glee. Maybe things wouldn't disintegrate around him after all. "Thank you, Admiral."

"But, I'm sending them anyways."

If Lord had been drinking at that moment, the contents of his cup would have been all over the front of his screen. "Wh--_What??_Admiral Barnett…"

The Black man held up a hand to silence the sputtering Lord. "Fleet Admiral Maxwell and I agreed that the _Enterprise_ and Captain Kirk need more of a challenge than patrolling our happy little neighborhood. It's unfair that they must be regulated to routine assignments given their outstanding performance recently. If I didn't think Kirk was capable of handling any situation presented to him, I most certainly would not have put him in the flagship of our fleet."

Lord's fists clenched, his voice taking on a hint of desperation. "Admiral Barnett…if you send the _Enterprise_ to the Neutral Zone…if they, for whatever reason, are perceived as a threat and discover Commander Spock is in a position of command…"

"Then Kirk will do as any other Captain should do and handle it." Barnett leaned back in his seat, considering Lord for a moment. "I'm surprised at you, Gregory. You're not one to agree to an arrangement that might leave the Federation so exposed and tied up like this."

"Believe me, _Richard_," Lord snapped, "I had very little choice. The Romulans are more than aware that our fleet was severely crippled at Vulcan and an attack by them would have a high percentage of success." He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "At least grant me this. If the _Enterprise_ cannot avoid Romulan territory, then I would advise that Commander Spock be confined to either his quarters or the brig throughout the mission. So long as Romulus has no proof that Spock is, or could be, a threat, then they can't demand his surrender."

Pike looked like he'd swallowed a half-dead fish. "You want us to place a Starfleet officer under house arrest onboard his own ship?"

"Yes."

"He's the first officer! We can't just lock him in a room for eight months!" Pike looked pleadingly at Barnett, "There has to be another way."

"Reassign the _Enterprise_." Lord was resolute.

Barnett shook his head. "No. That is not going to happen. Maxwell wants Captain Kirk to gain some real experience in handling volatile situations. Clashing one-on-one with a rogue mining ship is one thing. Confronting and handling an entire species is quite different."

"Then this is the best way." Lord frowned at Pike, "I don't know why you're fighting me on this. After all, I did save Spock's from a rather terrible death. I'm simply trying to keep that from happening in the near future."

"And we're thankful for your dedication." Barnett replied with a sour smile, "However inconvenient it may be."

"…Thanks…"

"Now that that's settled, is there anything else, Admiral Lord?" The dark look in Barnett's eyes told Lord quite clearly that his requests were done for today.

"No. I'm done." Lord gave them a short nod. "Thank you, gentlemen."

The screen wentdark as the connection was severed.

"This is unacceptable, Richard." Pike said, continuing to glare at the blank screen, "That bastard cooked up some deal that's put the Federation in jeopardy! How can we function when our officers are being restricted on their own ships?"

Barnett held up his hands in surrender. "Trust me, I like it even less than you do, Christopher. But what's done is done and if the Romulans think we've gone back on whatever bat-brained deal Admiral Lord came up with, then the Federation would be in danger of a full scale assault." He gave a wiry smirk, "Romulans don't take too kindly to having their honor trampled on."

This gave Pike pause as he considered Barnett's words. "I know that Lord didn't go into details about why Spock was their target, but it's not that hard to put two and two together. Do you think they're pissed that Spock and Kirk attacked and destroyed one of their ships?"

"Maybe. But then again, you weren't here when we alerted Romulus that a rogue ship had attacked us. To say the least, the Praetor wasn't too happy that we took so long to let them know."

"They were mad?"

"_Furious_. Apparently their Praetor determined that Nero's death should have come from their justice system. They wanted to help us bring Nero down." Barnett sighed, "They are the weirdest life forms I've ever had to deal with…besides Vulcans. But don't look into it too much. Frankly, I don't know why the Romulans are going after Spock. Could be a misplaced attempt to vent their anger. Or maybe the Praetor's off his rocker. Whatever the case is, the _Enterprise_ is going to the Neutral Zone and Spock is going to stay out of trouble…"

Barnett looked uncertain for the first time that afternoon as he looked in Pike's direction.

"_Right_?"

Pike let out a small laugh. "You order tell Spock to jump off a ten story building and he'd ask how far out. Don't worry about him."

_Worry about Kirk. _

"Good!" Barnett beamed standing up, "Then you'll make the necessary amendments to the mission parameters before transmission?"

"Yes, sir. I'll do that--"

_"After_," Barnett interrupted with a wide grin, "I finish trouncing your happy butt in chess."

Pike forced the half-enthusiastic smile to his face. "Yeah. Sounds like great fun."

MP**MP**MP**MP**MP

_Chapter One is done!! Some of you might be thinking: WTF??? Where is the Enterprise? Where is the Kirk? Where is the Spock and Uhura? I say to you: calm yourselves. It's in Chapter Two. I had to split them because this chapter was getting a bit too long. So, just scoot over to the next chapter and enjoy. _

_I do want to head off any questions about Fleet Admiral Maxwell. As far as my research goes, there isn't a named Fleet Admiral during this period. So I took the creative liberty of making one up. I doubt he'll serve much purpose outside of the name game._

_Admiral Barnett is the same from the movie.  
But before you go, please remember to show the love and R&R!_


	2. The Conundrum

Malum Prohibitum

By: Wildfire Sky

_I did have this chapter combined with the first one, but then the length would have been uproariously long! So, I split the two. This chapter focuses more on the crew of the _Enterprise_ and, of course, Spock and Uhura. _

_Again, another big thanks to my beta __**audi katia**__!! She rocks!!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any of its characters._

Malum Prohibitum

Chapter Two: The Conundrum

***************************************************************************

Although it was one of the least desired shifts on the _Enterprise_, Spock always volunteered for the last shift on the bridge. The so-called "grave-yard" detail that coincided with the Terran night hours, allowing the majority human crew to maintain the same sleep patterns they had on Earth in a twenty-four hour period. While the main crew took a much needed rest after two grueling eight hour stints, he and a replacement crew of officers and junior officers took the final eight hours and manned their respective stations to maintain the continuous monitoring of Federation territory.

It was voluntary for him since Spock had been one of the crew members on the primary shift, but being Vulcan he could go much longer than humans could without the need to sleep. Not quite as long as full-blooded Vulcans, but long enough where he could pull two or three "days" before the need for sleep began to affect his functionality. So knowing that he would not actually sleep if he went to his quarters, Spock opted to remain on deck and help monitor the stars as First Officer while the Captain rested.

Sitting in an almost relaxed state, Spock occupied the captain's chair, one eye on the panoramic forward display, the other on the PADD in his hand scanning the engineering report on the condition of the redesigned transport system. Designed by their very own Montgomery Scott, it appeared that the young engineer had taken whatever his older self had suggested and designed a totally new system capable of beaming objects on and off starships traveling at warp. It was most impressive.

It was graciously quietduring the shift. The only sounds came from the softly conversing crew and the occasional affirmation from Spock in response to all-clear reports from the stand-in communications officer.

Spock deflated a little at the thought.

Lieutenant Uhura usually took this time to sleep. Humans were so much more delicate than Vulcans and even during months in space, seldom could their bodies adjust. Very rarely did she manage to stay on the bridge with him, and even when she did, the stay was brief. Many times Spock would be forced to send her to her quarters upon catching even the slightest of yawns or the barest droop of her eyes. Of course, she would shoot him a look of annoyance before quietly consenting to his order. He knew she just wanted to keep him company among a crew that was still trying to adjust to his style of presence, but the _Enterprise _needed a fully aware officer.

Still…he noticed the absence of her calming presence.

"All quiet, Commander," came the soft report from Ensign Xera as she scanned deep space frequencies.

"Thank you, Ensign," Spock replied almost robotically, "Any updates from Fleet Command?"

Thin fingers flew as she switched frequencies. "No changes, sir. Mission parameters remain as ordered."

"Very well. Continue monitoring all incoming and outgoing frequencies."

"Yes, Commander."

The _Enterprise_ had been given a particularly boring mission. Despite being one of the few fully operational and fully staffed vessels in Starfleet, the _Enterprise_ found herself deep within Federation territory, on the lookout for smugglers and intergalactic pirates trying to use the weakened Federation to their advantage. Unfortunately, such interactions did not take place as often as one might think.

Patrolling deep Federation territory meant that, for the most part, a large amount of the excitement that occurred were ships requesting clearance into Federation planetary space. It was an extremely routine procedure. So long as a species wasn't blacklisted – and provided accurate passage codes – the policy was that they'd be let through with little, if any, resistance from Federation starships. By the time they arrived as deep as the _Enterprise_ lurked, they would have bypassed numerous defensive measures and starships already, leaving the remaining action to be condensed to performing random checkpoints.

A very, very mundane mission.

One that was, by Spock's observations, driving young Captain James Kirk border-line insane. After less than a month under the new Captain's command, Spock had already become aware of one of Kirk's more fascinating habits…he became more mischievous the more bored he was. Judging by his constant ribbing of Uhura and McCoy and the occasional rise he'd try to get from Spock during the primary shift, the Captain must have been feeling the monotony of it all.

And for that sole reason, Spock was eternally grateful Captain Kirk was not on deck. With his own boredom slowly settling in, Spock doubted he could much tolerate the Captain's attempts at poorly placed humor.

Spock turned his attention back to the PADD. His irritation flared only briefly before he suppressed it. The engineer's report was, once again, incomplete. While it outlined the basic details of the new transporter, there was no data detailing stress tests, errors that may have occurred during installation, not even a simple performance test. Spock would have to speak with Mister Scott about the performance of his engineers and their apparent lack of detail.

"Commander, incoming transmission from Starfleet Mission Command." The communications Ensign looked over at him, one hand pressed to her ear as she deciphered the encrypted message, "It's a Code 47, Classified: Alpha, sir."

Her voice sounded a little excited. Apparently, the Captain wasn't the only crew member beseeched by boredom.

Spock set aside his PADD, pressing a finger to data screen on the arm of the captain's chair, "Bridge to Captain Kirk."

There was barely a second before the transmitter let out a low, audible beep, confirming connection. A moment later, Kirk's tired voice filled the _Enterprise's _bridge. "Kirk to Bridge…" a loud yawn, "Spock…do you realize what time it is?"

"Apologies for waking you, Captain, but we have received a transmission from Command. A Code 47 has been issued to--"

"_Really??_" Immediately, all signs of Kirk's apparent weariness seemed to vanish as he cut Spock off, "I'll be there in just a second."

Spock's eyes narrowed. "Captain, that is a highly improbable feat. The amount of time it would take you to prepare yourself far exceeds---"

"Uh huh. Kirk out."

If it weren't for his years of extensive Vulcan training and his familiarity with Kirk's abrasive nature, the Vulcan might, just might, have felt the very human feeling of offense. Even so, Spock's eyebrows twitched ever so slightly as the junior helmsman snickered.

MP**MP**MP**MP**MP

Kirk stared down as the transmission played on his personal PADD through a pair of earphones, his face scrunched with confusion. It was definitely from Starfleet Command - the communication's officer had ensured him of that. The only problem was that it was the strangest - and quite possibly the most infuriating – order he'd ever heard, in simulations and otherwise.

His eyes shifted toward Spock as he came to the end of the transmission, the Vulcan First Officer staring back steadily in response, his expression totally placid.

"Is there a problem, Captain?" Spock's tone was smooth and even.  
"Listen to this." Kirk frowned ever so slightly, offering the PADD to his First Officer

"Captain," Spock stiffened, eyeing the PADD like it was about to jump up and eat him, "That is a Code 47 transmission. Starfleet regulations strictly prohibit officers of lesser rank than Captain access to such transmissions unless under emergency or perceived danger to the crew. I am forbidden from listening to or observing any such orders."

"I'm aware of that, Commander, but in this case…" Kirk trailed off as his eyes fell to the data screen in thought. He could feel the heat of the crew's stare. His lips pressing into a thin line, he jerked his head towards the bridge doors. "We need to talk. In private."

Eyebrows creasing in concern, Spock gave the barest of nods and moved with Kirk from the bridge and into a private room just off to the left. Spock stood before Kirk, his stance ridged, waiting patiently for the door to hiss shut behind them. Kirk handed the PADD to Spock.

"Now listen to it."

"I must reemphasize my objection to this, Jim. The consequences---"

"Are mine alone. Will you just shut up and use those ears of yours? Tell me what the hell this is supposed to mean."

Spock put the buds in his ears, his face completely still as he listened to the recorded transmission from Starfleet Command. Not once did his expression change even though for Kirk, it sent wave after wave of conflicting emotions through him. As the transmission ended, Spock removed the earphones and returned the PADD.

"Interesting."

"Yes. Very. And you're opinion is…?"

"You should do as ordered, Jim." The Vulcan was resolute, "The transmission clearly states that we are to depart for the Romulan Neutral Zone at Warp 3 immediately and hold in a patrol pattern."

"I _know_ that. But what about…" Kirk hesitated, "…the _other_ thing?"

"The message was very specific. Upon our arrival to the Romulan Neutral Zone, I will confine myself to my quarters for the duration of the mission." Spock spoke as though he were observing a distant solar flare.

"Hold on. You can't just accept this, Spock! I mean," he eyed the Vulcan warily, "you didn't actually _do_ anything, right? Nothing that might justify this?"

"Not to my current recollection."

"So, as far as you know, the confinement is unjustified?"

Spock tilted his head, an eyebrow shooting up. "You misunderstand me. While I am unaware of any personal actions that may be attributed to this, it is possible that Starfleet Command has evidence to a prior offense that may justly call for my restraint. Because I do not have access to such information, I can only speculate as to why Command would issue these orders."

"You think it's because of what happened with Nero?" Kirk asked watching Spock for any hint of acknowledgement. When he didn't immediately respond, Kirk shrugged uncaringly, "Well, regardless of why, I don't like the idea of having my First Officer under house arrest for an entire tour of duty without a damn good reason. It can negatively affect morale and daily operations."

"Is that what you're going to tell Starfleet Command?"

"Hell yes I am!" Kirk exclaimed looking at Spock as if he were deranged, "They can't just leave me shorthanded without a proper explanation."

Spock let out a puff of air, the Vulcan equivalent of a loud sigh. "Captain, your behavior is exceedingly irrational. If you disobey Command you could be court-martialed or imprisoned."

"Just because I have to obey it," Kirk grumbled, "doesn't me I have to _like_ it." He offered Spock a thin smile, "But then again, I suppose it comes with being the captain of a Starfleet vessel. I suppose you're going to go along with it?"

The Vulcan didn't respond, instead saying: "I will return to the bridge to complete my shift."

"No, don't bother. I'll finish your shift since I'm awake now. Computer, time?"

"_Current time is 0547, Earth Standard._"

Kirk gave Spock a friend pat on the arm, "You have less than fifteen minutes before your stint ends anyway. Go ahead and relax."

"Captain, I can…"

"_Go_. I'll call you if we need you."

Spock hesitated for only a moment before giving Kirk a brief nod and quickly retreating from the room. The mess hall was only two levels down. If he took the shortest route, he would have just enough time to get breakfast and see her.

MP**MP**MP**MP**MP

Uhura curled deep into the warm comforter of her bed, trying to shy as far from the coolness of her room as possible. It was the one thing they always failed to mention about space. Unless you were near a star, it was _freezing_. At least a quarter of a starship's power was dedicated to the heating systems in order to prevent crewmembers from literally freezing to death. Heating and cooling controls were similar to the way cooling systems were used in laptop to keep the machines functioning properly. But, in a starship of the _Enterprise's_ caliber, things could get hot very quickly. So the engineers designed starships to work with the cold of space, putting just enough heating sources within to keep the crew comfortable.

Unfortunately, because it used so much energy, the heating system was heavily monitored and regulated. As much as she wanted to, Uhura couldn't crank the temperature up to ninety degrees. Instead, to conserve as much energy as possible in case of emergency, the ship's systems kept the entire area at a neutral seventy-three degrees. It was just comfortable enough to keep everyone from complaining.

There were two low, soft beeps and a whoosh from outside her bedroom as the door to her quarters opened. Only two people, besides herself, had full access to her room: Kirk, because he was the Captain and therefore had free reign and Spock because...well, because he was _Spock_.

The door to her bedroom opened, the light from her living room slashing across the bedroom floor as a silhouetted figure silently padded towards her bed. The mattress shifted slightly as the recognizable weight of a body eased itself down, a hand ghosting over her angled legs.

Beneath the covers and still half-asleep, Uhura unconsciously moved towards the touch. Only one person touched her that way…

"G'way…" she mumbled drowsily, her voice muffled by the thick blanket covering her head.

The hand stilled for a moment before continuing to massage her upper thigh. "Forgive me for waking you, Nyota." Spock whispered in the stimulated night, "I desired to visit with you before your shift."

"Mmph…what time is it?"

"0601." Spock adjusted himself until he half-laid on top of her, his arms braced on either side of her shoulders as he bent down to press his face against where he thought the top of her head would be. "You're due to report to the bridge in exactly twenty-nine minutes."

"Nooo…" the moan escaped Uhura unwittingly.

She was _not_ a morning person by any stretch of the imagination. Everyone thought that because she was early to even her morning class, she somehow _loved_ the morning hours. Untrue. She hated them as much as the next person.

The only reason she woke up at seven o'clock was because she wanted to be and to do her best and be recognized for the exemplary student she was. But, when classes weren't in session, her happy butt was in her room with the lights out until the late hours of the A.M.

And heaven help the poor soul who woke her up before noon.

"Nyota…"

"Leave me alone!" Uhura growled in irritation.

Spock frowned slightly into the comforter. "That is unkind to say, _k'diwa_."

"I don't care. G'way!"

"Lieutenant, you now have twenty-seven minutes before your shift starts. You cannot be late."

Spock began to pull the comforter down from around her face, only to have it snatched back up and his lover curled into an even tighter ball, sealing herself inside a make-shift cocoon. Inhaling slowly, Spock began to encouragingly rub at her shoulders, trying to rouse her from the bed. After having been together since their days in the Academy and the short month on board the _Enterprise_, Spock was well aware of her reluctance to waking up.

Luckily, he also knew how to get her out of bed…

Rolling his hands over her exposed hips, he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction as she reacted to his touch, unfurling slightly and tilting her hips closer, encouraging him to continue. He would if time allowed. But seeing as the clock was counting down, he had no choice.

Suddenly his hands clenched gently against her side, fingers wiggling deep into the comforter, aiming for her sensitive hips.

It was like an explosion occurred beneath the sheets. Nyota let out a muffled scream, her entire body heaving off of the bed as she violently jerked away from his tickling fingers, half rolling from the mattress. She struggled like a fish in a net, her top half slumped over the side of her bed and her bottom half and one arm still trapped within the sheets, preventing escape. Her night shirt hiked up, fully exposing her side to Spock's assault.

Uhura choked on air as she laughed painfully, twisting back and forth in an attempt for freedom. Damn Vulcan's and their efficiency! Who in their right mind would have thought that they were expert ticklers?

"Oh God! – _ha-ha_ – Spock, you – _gasp_ – you _jerk_!! No!!" she managed to pull her trapped arm from the sheet and tried feebly to drag the rest of her body from the sheets, clawing desperately at the carpet as Spock pursued. Damn merciless Vulcan! "Okay! Okay! I'm sorry!"

Stone faced, Spock quirked an eyebrow. "For what, _k'diwa_?"

"For whatever…whatever I've done…to deserve _this_!"

"Will you get up now?"

"Yes!" Uhura twisted again, succeeding only in tangling herself further and preventing all movement. It was like those damn fingers had a mind of their own as they dashed up and down her side. "Yes! – _heave _– yes, I'll do whatever you want!"

The fingers froze and Uhura managed to turn towards Spock.

"Whatever I want?"

She blinked up at him before rolling her eyes. "I swear. You're almost as perverted as Kirk sometimes."

Long digits flashed up against her side again.

"_Ack!_ I take it back! I'm sorry!"

Again, the fingers paused, Spock's face clearly amused. "You've already apologized once, Nyota."

The young African glared at him beneath tussled hair. "Well, that didn't stop you, did it?"

"This is true." Spock stood from where he crouched over her, jerking up on the sheets and, disengaging Nyota's legs, dumped her to the ground in an undignified heap.

"_Oof!_" The air rushed from Uhura's lungs as she tumbled, freed from the tossed sheets. Breathing heavily from the torture she'd just experienced at the hands of someone she _thought_ cared about her, Nyota remained on the floor, hands outstretched spread-eagled as she stared blankly up at the ceiling.

"Nyota?" Spock's worried brown eyes filled her vision as he angled over her, scanning her features for any sign of injury. "You are unhurt?"

He barely had time to react before Uhura's hands shot out, wrapping around his neck and pulling him down, brushing her lips against his. "You're evil, Spock. You know how ticklish I am."

The Vulcan replied by pressing his mouth fully against her own, deepening the chaste kiss. Uhura's arms tightened around his neck, trying to draw as much of him against her as possible until the need to breathe was overwhelming enough that she had to pull away.

Spock pressed his face against her neck, inhaling her scent, "You have twenty-one minutes. If we continue this, you will most certainly be late."

Nyota let out a short laugh, her neck pulsing against Spock's mouth. "You're the first officer. You can excuse me."

"Nyota, to do so would be a serious breach in officer conduct. We agreed that…"

"Spock," she pressed her hands against his cheeks, silencing him. "I was kidding. Now are you going to let me up or continue to lie on top of me and make me late for call?"

Spock immediately straightened, offering a hand to Nyota and hoisting her up. "Forgive me if I've hurt you."

Waving off the apology, Uhura ran a hand through her hair as she moved towards the bathroom and called over her shoulder. "What are you doing here anyway? I know it wasn't to try and tickle me to death."

A vein twitched in Spock's temple. Death could hardly be achieved by tickling. Although he knew it was another one of those human sayings Nyota was constantly introducing him to, the complete lack of reason was a never ending frustration to Spock's logic-saturated mind.

By the time he could quell the words of logic bubbling up, Nyota was already in the bathroom, the door open enough so he could see her in the mirror, bent over the sink. Soon, the sound of running water filled the room as Nyota prepared herself for the day. He stood in silence, waiting for her to emerge again. As he looked around, his eyes fell on her bedside table and a feeling of surprise passed through him. Curious, he slowly approached, extending a hand out until they brushed over the silver framed photograph.

It was a picture of her standing in front of a sunset at the San Francisco bay; a wide, bright smile playing across her face as she grinned into the camera, an arm wrapped around the side of the tall, stiff-looking man next to her. It was obvious from the way her other arm was extended out of sight that she was the one holding the camera. It was so strange…

"Remember that?" Nyota's voice from behind caused Spock to turn. She stood behind him, slipping her uniform over her head as she spoke, "We took that together only two weeks before Vulcan."

Spock glanced back down at himself. He looked so out of place. A cheerful sunset, a cheerful smile on a cheerful Nyota…and then him. A blemish on an otherwise joyful picture. "I was unaware of your decision to keep the photograph."

"Why wouldn't I?"

Spock considered her for a moment, watching as she expertly hooked a pair of long, silver earrings through the tiny holes in her ears with a practiced hand. "Is it not a human custom for one to smile when a photograph is taken?"

Nyota placed her hands on her hips with an amused smirk. "I _am_ smiling."

"But I am not."

"Yes you are." She approached, picking up the picture and holding it to his face, "It's in your eyes. I can tell. A smile isn't always on the lips." Placing it back down, she made for the short hallway leading to the living room, "Besides, it's the only picture of you I have."

Spock followed her. She had one of him, proudly displayed for the entire world to see, without shame or regret. His eyes lowered slightly. The only one he had of her was from an article in the Academy newspaper, highlighting her and her choral group. Why he kept it was still a mystery to him, but right now it was tucked away in a drawer in his quarters, hidden from prying eyes and teasing whispers.

As he emerged from the backroom, he found Nyota staring down at a small plate of fruit and a cup of tea from the _Enterprise's_ mess hall. She looked up as he entered the room, her expression questioning.

"Breakfast." He answered, "For you. Based on your eating habits, you can eat and be on the bridge one-point five minutes before your shift begins."

Nyota plopped down before the small meal with a grateful sigh. "Thanks. Nothing like living on the edge." She picked out a piece of pineapple and, popping it into her mouth, let out a moan of delight. "Delicious. Want some?"

She pushed the plate towards the now-seated Spock, taking a sip of warm tea. Nodding in appreciation, he picked out an apple slice. They sat in silence, enjoying each other's company and the plate of fruit until both it and the tea had been finished.

"Computer, time?" Nyota asked as she stood to clear the paper plate from the table.

"_Current time is: 0629, Earth standard._"

"Wow." She looked sideways at Spock, "Words cannot describe how amazing you are."

Spock simply inclined his head in acknowledgement of her praise. Quickly shoveling the cup and plate into the trash incinerator, Nyota came around the table and pulled her lover's chin up towards her, planting a chaste kiss across her lips.

"See you in a few hours."

He grabbed her wrist before she had a chance to completely move away. The urgency with which he held her caused the smile on Nyota's face to falter slightly.

"Spock?"

"There is a… concern that requires my cooperation. I would like to speak of it with you at a future time."

Nyota's eyes narrowed in concern. "What's wrong?"

"Later." He stepped back, folding his hands behind his back. "I will tell you later. I do not want to make you any more delayedthan you already are."

Nyota's eyes flashed to the digital clock on the table next to her couch. "Oh _hell_!"

And with that, she was gone, leaving Spock in the silent wake of her departure, thinking of a future conversation he did not particularly look forward to.

MP**MP**MP**MP**MP

_End of chapter two!! I hope I have made up for the lack of Spock/Uhura and the Enterprise from chapter one. Fluffy? A little. Surprising considering I wouldn't know fluff if it smacked me across the face and screamed: HERE I AM!!_

_Anyways, please R&R like a good reader should! Chapter three will be out soon!!_


	3. The Lie

**Malum Prohibitum**

**By: Wildfire Sky**

_You guys made me realize that perhaps I should have gone into more depth about where I'm going with the whole Spock-Romulans revenge thing. I wanted to wait, but now might be a good time to let you take a peek into my mind so you can understand that Spock's pursuit is not just a glaring plot-hole._

_A/N: My beta, audia-katia (in her infinite brilliance), suggested I explain the Praetor: The Praetor is the leader of the Empire and of the Romulan People. The person (male or female) holding this position is the very embodiment of honor, accomplishment, discipline, and D'era, the destiny of the Romulan people to spread out and conquer the stars. The Praetor is elected by the Senate from candidates worthy of the position and who are popular with the Romulan people, as he or she must be the representative and role model of all Romulans. _

_**Disclaimer: **__I do not own Star Trek or any of its characters. _

**Malum Prohibitum**

**Chapter Three: The Lie**

**************************************************************************

Avell's fists clenched against the consol of the transport ship's private viewer as he glared down at the grainy image of Admiral Lord. Speeding to Romulus at full warp, Avell had expected an uneventful ride home. He had expected to step from the ship and proudly present to his Praetor that the threat of Spock against their planet had been all but removed. He had expected that his great Praetor would bestow his blessings upon him for his hard work.

What he did _not_ expect was for his longtime friend to contact him not three hours after his departure and reveal that their agreement – the salvation of the galaxy – had fallen apart as quickly as it has been built.

"Gregory…" Avell hissed through clenched teeth, "Do you realize what you've just _done_? How incompetent can yo--"

Lord looked as stressed as Avell felt. "Don't lecture me, Avell, I had no choice. Agreement or not, the Fleet Admiral was going to send the _Enterprise_ no matter what. Admiral Pike had spoken to him before we even met today. Be glad that I at least managed to get Commander Spock put under house arrest for the duration of the mission."

"But he's still on the damn _ship_!" Avell couldn't believe this. Everything was going to be ruined, "The whole point was to keep that half-breed away from Romulus and her territories. Do you honestly believe that your human crew will be able to stop a Vulcan should he try and take the ship?"

"Commander Spock won't try and take over the ship, Avell," Lord admonished, "be reasonable."

Avell bristled, his nails digging deep into his palms. "Be _reasonable_? I was being reasonable, Gregory, when I listened to you. I was being reasonable when I went against the direct orders of my Praetor and agreed to that ridiculous compromise. I was being reasonablewhen I trusted you to keep that damn Vulcan away from our planet rather than demanding his surrender like I should have!"

Lord scowled angrily. "Look, Avell, as sorry as I am, I told you there was a chance that Commander Spock or the _Enterprise_ would be required to go near Romulan space. You didn't want to listen to me then, and you're not listening to me now." He glared, "Spock will _not_ take over the ship. I promise you that."

"You've already broken one promise," Avell snapped, "I'll expect as much this time."

Lord's lips pulled into a thin line of tightly veiled fury. He wanted to give voice to the venomous words contained within his mind, but it would not help the already dire situation. They were like two stubborn bulls. Someone had to give in or they would continue to blindly charge at each other.

Avell spoke again, his voice tense but controlled, "We are traveling at Warp Two to Romulus. It will take approximately six days to reach the outer edges of our territory."

Lord quirked an eyebrow, "You're telling me this, why…?"

"I'm hoping that in six days, you will have found an agreeable solution to this extremely inconvenient mess you've created."

"You could give me six _months_," Lord said tersely, "and that wouldn't be enough. The _Enterprise_ is going to the Neutral Zone. There's nothing you or I can do about it. I can't change what's happened. But, at least I've prevented Commander Spock from having the ability to leave or even take over the ship. You can accept that."

Avell wanted to punch the screen in front of him. Damn these humans and their ridiculous need to compromise! They thought everything was give and take, that everything could be solved by an even trade. It showed how young and undeveloped the human race actually was. Perhaps when they've existed as long as Romulans have they will realize there truly is no such thing as compromise.

"Where is the _Enterprise_ now?"

"Classified."

"Gregory," Avell's teeth clenched, "you will have only one chance to save your Commander. The Praetor is expecting my call before I arrive, so I will give you as much time as I can. And I grant this only because you are my brother. Had you been anyone else, negotiations would have been over long ago."

Lord's mouth curled into a half-snarl, "And had _you_ been anyone else, _brother_, I would have ended our 'negotiations' the minute you walked into my conference room."

Ignoring the biting sarcasm, Avell continued, "If you do not find a way to restore our original agreement and have Commander Spock removed from the _Enterprise_, then there will be no other options and no second chance."

"Meaning _what_?" Lord's voice was challenging.

The Romulan ambassador leaned forward, catching Lord's eyes, "I promise, Gregory, if you do not fix this, if you embarrass me and dishonor me before my Praetor, I swear upon my house…"

His hands shook with barely contained fury as he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. Threats would not do. Not now. He took a long, deep breath and opened his eyes, sitting straight in his chair.

"Find the Vulcan. Get him off that ship or get that ship back to Earth." He glared down at Lord. Hand hovering over the consol's controls, Avell spat out the words he'd wanted to say from the beginning. "Negotiations are over."

For the first time all day, Lord looked completely floored. "Avell wait—"

The screen went black.

Avell remained seated at the console for a moment longer, trying to collect himself and muddle through this disastrous ordeal.

He knew, beyond a doubt in his highly educated mind, that the Praetor would be furious. His master might have accepted the original agreement between two high ranking officials. He trusted that a man whose charge was to protect a planet could at least uphold his word and honor.

But this…to turn your back on a truce before the ink was even dry was unacceptable by any standards. Human or Romulan.

Avell's thoughts darkened. Romulans held honor to a level almost of that of Klingons. They may not be so murderously intent on proving their honor as the militant species, but certainly their lives and laws revolved around it, and those in the military were absolutely bound by it. Standing by the_ mnhei'sahe -_ their ruling passion, the honor their lives revolved around - was drilled into the minds of Romulans since birth. You must be honorable, dutiful, courteous, and strong in everything you did. To deviate from it was unthinkable.

Gregory's failure would certainly comeback tenfold. A serious breach in cultural customs had occurred, unwittingly or not, and no proper Romulan would tolerate it. As the Praetor's selected representative, anything that Avell said was taken as the Praetor's own words. So by being unable to contain the _Enterprise_ and her Vulcan commander as promised, Lord had - for intents and purposes - lied to the Praetor.

_No one_ lies to the Praetor.

Avell swore violently. Starfleet, for all their superiority, would someday be the death of the entire universe if they did not learn to curb their insistent need to control everything around them.

He knew what had to be done. Brothers or not, Avell had his own skin to worry about at this point for the Praetor would certainly be looking for a scapegoat for this embarrassment. His House could be in danger if he didn't confront this head on.

Taking a deep breath, Avell spoke aloud to the ship's communication system.

"Computer. Connect me to the Praetor."

There was a short beep of acknowledgement and the face of a young Romulan male appeared on the screen a moment later. "_Shaoi kon,_ Ambassador R'Mor."

"_Shaoi ben_. I request conference with the Praetor immediately."

The reply was swift, clipped, and practiced. "The Praetor is not accepting any incoming transmissions. You will have to speak with him at another time."

Avell grumbled to himself internally before replying, his own tone short. "This is a matter of urgency. Put me through to him at once."

"The Praetor is not available." The young Romulan looked irritated, "I will inform him of your call, Ambassador R'Mor."

Avell released a torrent of vicious curses. "Who are you to deny me? You will connect me to the Praetor this moment, or I will see to it that both you and your House are severely punished for your disrespect and disobedience!"

Although his face paled, the Romulan remained steadfast. "I mean no disrespect, Ambassador R'Mor. But the orders of the Praetor are above all others. I'm sorry, sir, but there's nothing you can do that he can't do worse." The young Romulan shifted, "I'm disconnecting you, Ambassador."

"Wait." The Romulan paused at the desperation that unwillingly entered Avell's tone. Gritting his teeth in annoyance, he tried a different tactic, "I understand your situation and I commend you on your absolute obedience to the Praetor. You should be highly praised for your loyalty, not punished. Excuse my brashness."

The Romulan flushed. "There is nothing to excuse, Ambassador."

"But I must speak with the Praetor. As a fellow Romulan, you can be assured that my loyalty is as unwavering as your own. Which is why you must understand that I would not ask twice – let alone three times – to speak with the Praetor unless it was a matter of great importance. For the safety of the Empire, it is imperative that I speak with him."

A pause of consideration before the Romulan let out a small grunt of consent. "Hold. I will transfer you to his private line. Glory to the Empire."

"Glory to the Empire." Avell replied as the screen went black. He took in a long deep breath and used the short minutes between transfers to try and look as calm as possible as the face of the most dangerous man in the Romulan Empire appeared on his screen. He seemed relaxed enough to Avell; perhaps there was still a chance he might come out of this unscathed.

"Glory to the Empire, Grand Praetor! I ---"

He jumped as a harsh, guttural bellow erupted from the Praetor. "You little b_astard_!!"

Avell winced in fear, immediately dropping his gaze from the Praetor's blazing eyes. So much for calm.

MP**MP**MP**MP**MP

"He's certainly playful!"

A large hand enveloped the tiny ones grasping for purchase within the cleanly trimmed beard before them. Letting out a small whine of protest, the owner of the hands tried to escape from his cage and return to the exploration of the beaming face leaning over him. Releasing the hands, the Romulan male plucked the small newborn from his crib and sat down on the floor, placing the babe in his lap. Gurgling happily at the brief flight, the child immediately reached for the beard again, this time managing to grab a handful.

"Quick, too!" the Romulan released a gruff laugh, allowing the newborn to explore. Dark eyes glanced over at the brown haired female sitting on the far side of the lavish nursery, reclining on a window ledge in the soft warmth of the Romulan sun, her long curls spilling over one shoulder.

She smiled at the comment, violet orbs falling on the babbling infant. "He gets it from his father, Great Praetor. You're quite playful yourself."

The Praetor grinned and nodded enthusiastically. "Of course I am! How do you think I managed _him_?"

He held the infant above his head, displaying him proudly like a well-earned trophy. Screams of excitement immediately burst from the babe as his father repeatedly propelled him into the air, arms waving rapidly in an attempt to get higher.

The female watched calmly as the Praetor leapt to his feet, diving and lifting the child with rapid succession. "You're going to make him sick, Great Praetor."

The Romulan male never took his eyes from the child's excited face, beaming happily though the smile seemed to fade at his eyes. "I've asked you before, Arrenhae, do not call me Praetor."

"It is what is proper."

"And you are my _wife_." The Praetor finally paused in his play, tucking the squirming infant beneath his arm like a large sack as he turned towards the still-seated Arrenhae. "You should never think that what is proper in public is what must be done in private. So long as you are by my side, there's no need to call me Praetor."

Reaching for her son, Arrenhae sighed, her eyes lowered. "This is still so new to me. I'm fearful I will accidentally address you by your name rather than your title in a situation that requires it. I may embarrass you."

The Praetor brought a hand to her face, caressing it upwards until she finally looked at him. "That is a foolish fear, _a'rhea_. Even if you did, I would not care. Hearing my name from you brings me such joy…I would rather face total seclusion than never hear it again."

"Such a romantic," Arrenhae offered a sarcastic smirk as she leaned into his caress. "Imagine what the world would think if they knew the fearless Praetor had a soft spot for sweet nothings."

He returned the smirk with his own, leaning against the opposite wall and watching as his wife played with their son. The comfortable silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft cooing and delighted gurgles from the mother and son. He considered the infant carefully, watching how the child interacted with his mother: the quickness of his grabs, the strength – comparatively – in his hold, the attentive look in his eyes as he locked onto everything around him, all were important.

"He will grow up to be strong. He will live a good, honest noble life."

Arrenhae glanced up at the strong conviction in her husband's voice. "I love him as much as you do, dear one…but we both know that's not true."

The Romulan ruler clenched his fists in a flash of hot anger. "Do not become like the rest of these traitorous fools! I will not let that happen. Not again. Not to _him_. Our son is stronger than that."

"How can you say that?" Arrenhae looked at him with disbelief. "Explain it to me so I can share your confidence that our son is not destined to terrorize the galaxy and nearly bring it to war."

The Praetor bit back a harsh snarl of contempt. As much as he cherished Arrenhae, the woman could be positively infuriating at times!

"He will be taught properly about upholding true honor and the difference between vengeance and justice." He reached out to stroke the small head of his child, his voice dropping to a low, pained tone, "I will ensure that the history of our future does not repeat in its past."

Tiny hands grasped his again, drawing his fingers to a toothless mouth. Once more, silence reigned in the room, but this time there were no giggles, no coos, and no laughter. Even the baby seemed to feel the tension as it quietly sucked on his father's large index finger, wide eyes staring up into the anxious faces of his parents.

"Arrenhae." He covered her hand with his own, squeezing gently and staring into her eyes with absolution, "You must trust me. Our son will not become what everyone thinks. I will replenish our name and keep it strong, I promise you."

"_How?_"

The Praetor straightened, a ghost of a smile whispering across his lips. "I will restore the _mnhei'sahe_ that was taken from us, in proper Romulan fashion. Politicking with Starfleet has come to an end. The one who has brought shame to our family, the one who…" the words choked in his throat as he felt a sudden wave of fury wash over him. "…who _killed_ our son, I will see that he suffers."

"What have you done?" asked Arrenhae, watching him closely.

"I have done what every father who has watched his child murdered has the right to do. I have put into motion an arrangement that will bring back our honor." He smiled down at the chubby infant, taking him from his mother. "And I will give him back his future."

The child babbled excitedly as the Praetor lifted him to eye level, returning the wide smile.

"You will not die a second time, Nero."

He didn't see the curious, yet skeptic, look that crossed his wife's face.

A soft knock against the wall drew the couple's attention towards the large doorway where the young Romulan secretary stood, eyes downcast respectively.

"What is it?" the Praetor growled, the annoyance creeping into his voice, "I said I'm not to be disturbed today."

The Romulan inclined his head. "Forgive me, Grand Praetor, but Ambassador Avell R'Mor is standing by to speak with you."

"He's planet-side already?" the Praetor blinked in surprise.

"No, Praetor. Ambassador R'Mor is still enroute, approximately one hundred and forty-four hours out. He's transmitting via the com uplink on board his vessel."

"Tell the Ambassador that I will speak with him once he returns to Romulus."

The Romulan hesitated, lifting his eyes from the briefest of moments. "I beg your forgiveness, Grand Praetor, but the Ambassador says it is of some urgency…in regards to the safety of the Empire."

The safety of the Empire. The one phrase that controlled the movements of all Romulans, including the Praetor.

He could hope to spend time with his family as much as he wanted. However, once attention was demanded in order to defend against a threat to the Empire, even a Praetor had no choice but to respond.

Taking a deep breath, he turned back to his wife, handing baby Nero to her with a promising smile. "This will not take long."

"Nero and I will wait for your return, Praetor." She offered a soft smile, "Go and do your duty for the Empire."

Brushing the back of his hand against her cheek once more, the Praetor stood and followed the Romulan attendant to his private office on the other side of his massive home. It was by his own personal decision to keep his family and work separate. There was no need to bring the brutality of ruling an Empire into his own bed.

It took nearly five minutes just to cross from one side to the other and the entire time, the Praetor ignored the reverent greetings of his other subjects and family members. As they approached his private quarters, the guard sitting at station before his door leapt to his feet and jerked open the heavy frame, snapping to attention.

The Praetor waved a hand in acknowledgement as he swept past with his attendant on his heels. The young Romulan rushed around to the wide desk that stood before a massive polarized windowpane that revealed the expansive Romulan city and political hub, Krocton, below. Powering the Praetor's desktop viewer, the Romulan stepped away.

"Ambassador R'Mor, Grand Praetor."

"Thank you." The face of Ambassador Avell materialized on the screen.

The Romulan backed to the doorway, careful not to turn his back to the Praetor as he left. "Glory to the Empire." The door firmly shut behind him.

"Glory to the Empire, Grand Praetor!" came Avell's confident greeting, "I ---"

The Praetor rounded on the smiling Ambassador, his dark eyes narrowing to dangerous slits as he glared venomously at the shocked Romulan. "You little _bastard_!" he barked out, his contained fury finally released, "When I say I am unavailable, I'm _unavailable_! Do you understand?"

The Ambassador seemed at a loss for words. "I…uh, forgive my impudence, Praetor. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"I'm sure." He took a moment to pulling in a long breath, "Are you going to tell me why you've disrupted my afternoon or just continue to stare at me?"

Avell swallowed visibly, a nervous look on his face. "I apologize, Great Praetor, but I wanted to inform you of my mission on Earth before my arrival on Romulus."

"The Vulcan is in your possession." It was a statement, not a question. It was a matter of life for Romulans; his orders were always executed without hesitation. "I'm glad for this. Soon our people will have their due justice and they will thank you for your hard work in bringing this Vulcan criminal to his judgment."

The anxious expression did not diminish with the praise. A cold sweat broke across Avell's forehead. "No, Praetor, there was a…complication. The Vulcan is not with me at the moment."

"What?" The words failed to sink in. No? Since becoming Praetor over a year ago, the word 'no' had almost been absent in his life. It was almost as though Avell was speaking an alien language. Nails digging into flesh, the Praetor forced his mind to clear. "Explain."

"Forgive me, Great One, but those Federation dogs refuse to relinquish Commander Spock. They say that we have no reason to pursue him, that our claims are unjustified." Avell's throat seemed to dry as he struggled to get the words out, "However, I'd managed to arrange with one of their Admirals to prevent Spock from entering Romulan space in order to stem any acts of revenge by the Vulcan. If they were to fail in that, then we may capture him without ramifications."

He took in the furious glare of his leader and blanched.

"It…seemed reasonable…"

The Praetor let out a low growl. "I sent you to Earth to bring the Vulcan back to Romulus, not play politics with the humans. In a hundred and forty-four hours, that half-breed should be bleeding to death on an execution block, not exploring the galaxy on a warship! What part of 'bring me the Vulcan' did you fail to comprehend?"

"Great Praetor ---"

"How can I protect our people when the one who allowed millions to die still enjoys life?"

There was silence as the Praetor stared down at Avell, waiting for an explanation. The Romulan kept his gaze lowered, trying not to look up as he spoke in a hushed, almost pained voice. "Praetor, I must say…I do understand the human's position on the matter."

A vein bulged in the Praetor's left temple. "Come again?"

"They say that we have no right to demand the capture of Spock. They say he has done nothing. Great One," Avell's dry throat caught uncomfortably as he tried to swallow, "...perhaps they are right? After all, it was not _this_ Spock that allowed Romulus to burn, but another Spock pulled from the future by Nero. There is evidence that this future Spock now lives among the remains of his people on New Vulcan. Should it not be him that we are pursuing, and not his younger self? That, to me, Great Praetor, would bring true justice."

"Then it's a good thing that fools like you aren't in charge."

Avell stiffened at the insult but held his tongue. "I don't---"

"If I let Spock live, I let him live to fail. In this rare instance, the past is allowed to learn from the future. If there is no Spock, then there is no one to disappoint us. A more capable Vulcan will take his place in protecting us from impending disaster." A cold smile breezed across his face, "And once the remaining Vulcans see what happens to those to break the _mnhei'sahe_, I doubt Spock's replacement will fail to succeed. That is why Commander Spock must be brought before judgment. Romulus will be saved by our actions now."

_More than that, _the Praetor thought, _my family's name will be restored, my son's murder avenged, by our actions now. There will be true justice._

"I…I understand, Great Praetor." Truly, Avell was still confused, but further disobedience may only increase his punishment. "As always, you are wiser than any. But, humans are not as logical as we are. The Federation will never hand him over without conflict."

"Why?"

"They have simply placed him under minimal containment onboard the _Enterprise_ - which will be allowed to proceed in mission operations as normal. There is feeling that the restriction is a compromise in preventing Commander Spock's actions, but this is not in accordance to our original agreement."

"If this were not such common occurrence among their kind, I would be insulted." The Praetor sighed. "So twice they have broken the _mnhei'sahe_. Such a barbaric culture."

Avell remained silent.

"It doesn't matter. The Federation doesn't have a choice. If they cannot abide to a simple contract – no matter how _foolish_ it is…" his venomous glare bore down as Avell flinched, "then they do not deserve our respect. Inform your captain that you will not be returning to Romulus just yet. Have him navigate to these new coordinates." The Praetor paused for a moment, entering into the data screen a series of coordinates. Avell froze as they flashed across his screen.

"Great One, this is…"

"An opportunity to redeem yourself. Go there and wait for further instructions." The Praetor sent him a harsh look, "I know you are close to your human friend, but there should be no need to tell you to keep your mouth shut."

"None, Great Praetor, but what will I tell the humans?"

The Praetor thought for a moment. "Tell them that despite their own failure to uphold our agreement, we will not attack the _Enterprise_ unless they enter into Romulan space."

"May I ask the purpose of sending me here? This is still within Romulan territory, which the _Enterprise _likely will not enter. I fail to comprehend how this will help us capture Spock."

"The Federation won't tell us where the _Enterprise _is, and space is much too large to search. Why should I waste resources having to hunt for the _Enterprise_?" The predatory grin returned to the Praetor's face. "It's much easier to let them hunt us. If the Federation is as predictable as they are ignorant, you won't have to wait long before the Spock comes to you."

MP**MP**MP**MP**MP

Spock braced one hand against the shower wall, his head bent and body enjoying the sensations as the soft pulses of the sonic shower fell across his tense frame.

It had been over seven hours since Spock last spoke to Nyota and in thirty-two point five minutes, he would have to report on deck to serve out his final shift. Unfortunately, that did not mean he would have time to speak. The main crew would be taking turns departing for an hour for a dinner break before the next eight hour shift. Spock would have to stay on the bridge and temporarily take command for Kirk, so there would be no opportunity for them to have some privacy.

"Computer, activate water spray." Immediately, a blast of warm water sprayed down from the ceiling of the shower, wetting the Vulcan's finely kept hair. He reached for a bottle of shampoo and dumped a generous amount into his hands. Despite the eight hour breaks between shifts, a relatively novice crew meant Spock rarely found time to do the most simple things. He would take the opportunity now.

He would have to wait a full nine hours, and by that time they would be closing in on the Neutral Zone. From their station near one of the Federation's outposts, it was only a ten day journey – at optimal warp - to their destination just outside Romulan space. Preparations needed to be made if he was to live comfortably during his eight month confinement and that would leave little time for Nyota.

Stepping from the shower with a fresh mop of wet hair, Spock pulled a towel from beneath his immaculately organized vanity and quickly toweled his hair dry before wrapping the slightly warm towel about his waist and stepped out into the cold of his room. There was a sharp, involuntary inhale as the cold of the ship hit him, goose bumps immediately springing out all over his body. He'd earned permission from Kirk to raise his room's temperature to eighty degrees, but it was still much too cold for him.

Spock stood in the middle of the room for a moment, the towel around his slim waist catching the rivulets of water that streamed down his finely-toned body. Suddenly, he dropped to the floor and lay on his back across the soft carpet of his bedroom, closing his eyes for a moment to compose and relax his mind. He could feel the faint, pleasant vibrations in the _Enterprise's_ hull as she traveled through the system at warp. It was an experience he'd picked up from Nyota. While traveling from Earth to their initial outpost assignment – a three week long excursion, even at maximum warp – Nyota would often urge him at lay on the floor with her.

_"Come on, you'll love it."_

_"I adamantly disagree with that statement." Spock eyed the outstretched Nyota with only the slightest hint of trepidation, "It is illogical to love an inanimate object. And if you are referring to the common human phrase that I will somehow 'enjoy' the experience, I again disagree. Even with our modern cleaning units, a common carpet contains over 250,000 microorganisms per square inch and 3,000 different species of bacteria, many of which can lead to ---" _

_"Spock, shut up and lie down."_

And he had done so, albeit unwillingly. Now, it had become one of his favorite things to do when he was alone, something he would never admit to her. Even a half-breed Vulcan hated hearing 'I told you so'. It was something he could take advantage of at any time. Even when the ship wasn't at warp, one could still sense the vibrations caused by the powerful starship engines; it was simply more pronounced during warp. His mind at ease, Spock let the gentle vibrations work against his stressed body.

His eyes slid shut and he let himself wander.

It was the low pitched ding of his doorbell that pulled Spock from his contentment, his deep onyx eyes opened calmly as he stood gracefully from his place on the carpet. Aware of his state of undress, Spock padded over to his door, activating the tiny view screen next to it. He blinked in tightly veiled surprise at the person standing before his door, but still opened it.

"Hey." The voice was almost shy but clearly worried.

"Lieutenant." Spock tactfully masked the surprise in his voice as his internal clock swung to life, providing the information he required, "It's only two forty-five. Should you not be at your station on the command deck?"

At her slow approach, he stepped aside, allowing her entry.

"I had to leave." A slight scowl crossed Uhura's face as she entered his quarters, pressing a paper bag into his hands. "I can't concentrate. I've been trying for the past eight hours, but I just can't."

His eyes narrowed in concern. "Explain."

"I don't know." She shook her head pacing over to the couch and lowering her tired body into it, "I just…I can't…" she looked withdrawn, "I guess it's because of this morning Spock. All day I've been trying to figure out what you have to tell me that's so urgent. It's been distracting me."

An eyebrow shot up. "I apologize for causing you any undue stress."

"It's not your fault. It's just that you can be so damn _mysterious_ sometimes." She flashed a teasing smile before shaking her head and standing. "You can tell me _after_ we eat. I'm way too hungry to listen to anything right now."

Spock's mouth twitched in an almost-smile. "Indeed."

It was moments later, as Spock stood to clear the bowls of soup from the table that he could feel the saturating tension descend upon the room. He'd wanted to draw out the quick lunch as long as possible to avoid this, but it was necessary for Nyota to know.

Briefly, he wondered if discussing a Code 47 with another crewmember would be an extreme violation of Starfleet policy – and if he were honest, he would know it was so – but he didn't dwell on the consequences. They were preferable to Nyota's reaction if he _didn't_ tell her.

When he returned, Nyota was no longer at the small dining table but had instead relocated to the nearby couch. She sat there silently watching he sat next to her, eyes tense. For a moment they remained in silence, one watching the other with a mix of curiosity and caution.

As the silence stretched into a full minute, Nyota let out an impatient huff of a sigh and rolled her eyes as she came up from the couch.

"This is ridiculous, Spock," she chided with an annoyed glare, striding over to stand in front of him, "I know you're the silent type, but honestly, it can't be that bad."

"Forgive me. I was trying to formulate the situation into a fashion that will cause the least amount of stress."

"Spock. I have to deal with an overbearing, flirtatious Captain who can't take a hint, onboard a crowded starship, in the middle of nowhere, and the only means of escape are my room – which he has access to - or into the vacuum of space." She grinned, "I'm used to stressful situations."

"And yet you continually protest that there is nothing to do."

Nyota would have missed the teasing tone in his voice had she not learned to look for it. She waited for Spock to speak, sensing the need to be patient.

The Vulcan Commander stood stiff before her. "Nyota, it is of the utmost importance that what I am about to say not leave this room."

"Of course."

He inclined his head in gratitude. "A situation has arisen that has forced the Captain and I to comply with less than logical demands from Starfleet Command. These demands require that I conform to a rather disruptive assignment for the duration of our mission."

Uhura stood there before him, her face blank. "Ok."

Spock blinked. "That…is not the response I expected."

"Well, you haven't really told me anything. At least nothing beyond what's expected."

"I fail to comprehend."

"Spock," Uhura sighed, stepping closer so she could stare up into his warm dark eye, "if you have something to tell me, then please stop with the mystery and just say it. If you _can't_ tell me, then I'd rather you not bring it up in the first place, especially if it means I can't think all day."

Spock winced. "I apolo ---"

"If you apologize one more time, I'm walking out the door."

Alien jaws snapped shut like a steel trap.

"Thank you. Now. What. Is. It?"

Spock let out the tiniest of sighs, bringing up a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "While I will not apologize, as requested, I would like to offer you my regrets. It appears that the consequences of my future may still be having an effect on my present. For reasons still unexplained to me, I have been ordered to remain in my quarters for the duration of this mission."

Nyota tensed. "What?"

"I have been placed under strict limitations to prevent my movement while I remain onboard the _Enterprise_. I am to stay in these living quarters, undisturbed, until the end of our mission."

"And when you say 'undisturbed'…?"

Spock's hard eyes locked on her face. "I mean to say that you will not see me again until our return to Earth. Eight months from today."

"_What?_" Uhura pulled away from him, taking at step back to let her eyes sweep over his stone face. She wasn't angry so much as she was confused. "Why would Starfleet order such a thing? If this honestly had something to do with Nero, it doesn't make sense that _you_ would be punished for it."

"I don't believe this is as much punishment as it is precaution."

Skeptical arms crossed her chest. "And what makes you think that? Have you suddenly become a danger to the crew?" The sarcastically veiled curiosity was hard to detect, even for Spock.

"Perhaps not directly. Based on the fact that we are being deployed to the edges of the Romulan Neutral Zone so soon after the conflict with Nero, and considering that tension is still high between the Federation and Romulus, it would be logical to conclude that this is a precautionary step taken by Starfleet to ensure that the Romulans aren't provoked into action."

Nyota was shaking her head in disbelief. "I still don't understand. Did you do something during that horrible day that I missed? You weren't the only one involved with that, Spock. All of us were. If they wanted to keep from provoking Romulus – for whatever ridiculous reason - then the restrictions would apply to the entire starship, not just you." She glowered bitterly. "This is the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

The corner of Spock's mouth twitched. "Agreed."

She looked up at him for the first time with anxious eyes. "You're not going to really comply with this are you?"

"Starfleet Command has ordered it."

Dark eyes blazed. "It makes no sense!"

"As the Captain expressed, you don't have to like every order you're given. But you must still obey it. We are officers in Starfleet, Nyota," he slid his knuckles down the side of her arm, enjoying the small jolts of contact. The last he would have in at least eight months. "This is our life."

She sighed. "'Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do and die.'"

Spock's head tilted just so. "An interesting quote."

"_The Charge of the Light Brigade_. Alfred, Lord Tennyson."

"Hmm. Perhaps I shall add that to my collection of reading material for the mission."

Suddenly Nyota let her head fall against Spock's hard body, the Vulcan barely having time to react as her arms wrapped around his broad form, trying to mold herself within his chest. "Please don't sound like you're giving into this, Spock."

"As you so brilliantly quipped, I have no choice."

"I'm not going to like it."

"I know."

"You're leaving me alone. With Kirk."

"Not alone, _k'diwa_." He slowly brought his face down until his cheek was pressed against the top of her head, bring his arms around her own body. "I will not deny that I find this most distressing. Being apart from you when you're so close…"

A soured smile glanced across his lips.

"We Vulcan's try to keep our weaknesses hidden, mostly under the reasoning that it's illogical to reveal our limitations to others. There was a time, before the teachings of Surak freed us from our violent behaviors and lifestyles, that we would fight and kill to keep what we didn't want known safe. Although our methods have changed somewhat, our motives have not."

Nyota's voice was muffled by the material of his shirt. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because…" He brought a hooked finger to her chin and lifted her face to his. Slowly, he rested his lips against hers, enjoying the soft feel of her softness against his; reveling in the wild, yet subtle smell of raspberries that was her own, a smell that he'd come to savor and need more that substance.

Her hands trailed to the back of his head, desperately pulling him closer as she tried to deepen the kiss, her tongue brushing against his lips and gaining the access she desired. He could sense the love and barely-there misery flowing between them in a chaotic loop. He gently pulled away, resting his forehead against her own and sending waves of reassurance into her troubled mind.

"Because, my beautiful Nyota, I believe that my weakness has been found."

She smirked, quirking a playful eyebrow. "So you would fight to keep me safe?"

Spock immediately pulled away. "Absolutely not."

Nyota jerked at his serious expression and suddenly her face was contorting to Spock-directed anger. But before she could speak the words of annoyed frustration building behind her lips, Spock pulled her back up into a fierce embrace.

"I would not just fight, _k'diwa. _I would die to keep you safe."

Softening beneath his embrace, Nyota couldn't help but laugh.

"You are so corny."

MP**MP**MP**MP**MP

_Did you know that a "moment" is equal to 1.5 minutes or 1/40 of an hour? Now you know!! Isn't Wikipedia awesome?!? So, please take a "moment" and review!!_

_Hope this chapter gave some insight as to why Spock is being pursued rather than Spock Prime. The next couple of chapters will explain even further, but I want to give you just a bit of tease._

_Translation notes: __shaoi kon/shaoi ben__ = greetings in Romulan; __mnhei'sahe__ = the honor code that Romulans live by. It's very important to them and if they feel it has been trampled on, they will go to extreme measures (including war) to even things out. _


End file.
